Cold? I’d never believe that.
Cold people don’t camp in doorways to fight someone else’s battle. They don’t donate thousands and refuse credit. They don’t let pain flicker when they think nobody sees.
Outside the house, I cut the engine. The lights are on, curtains wide open. Liam and Ollie stand in the front window, peering out as if waiting for me. That’s unusual. As I move to open the door, my cell buzzes: Savannah.
Dad, Why is a reporter messaging me? What’s going on?
Before I can reply, my phone vibrates again. Rose this time with the same question. Hell, they’re approaching my kids. Even when I said on camera, they were off-limits.
I message both of them.
Family call. Now.
Within minutes, I’m sitting at my kitchen table with both my sons. Savannah and Rose are on the screen.
“You didn’t tell us this was happening,” Savannah says accusatory. Her partner, Frankie, wanders around behind her, collecting dishes and placing them in the sink.
“Well, I’m sure Dad wasn’t expecting anyone to contact us.” Rose rolls her eyes at her sister. The waves lap on the beach behind her, wherever she is. Somewhere in the Caribbean, I think. The yacht she’s working on is based there. “You looked good on camera.”
I smile. Rose always lightens the mood.
“Have either of you spoken to the reporters?” I ask. They both shake their heads. “Good. Keep it that way.”
Liam and Ollie glance at one another. Ollie nudges his brother’s elbow. “Tell him.”
Instead, Liam slides his phone across the table. It’s open in a social media chat.
How do you feel about your mum being used as PR?
A single sentence. Not replied to. From a private account.
I stare at the screen, dumbfounded.
“I don’t know what to say,” Liam whispers. “You didn’t mention Mum much.”
His voice cracks. I reach for his hands as his siblings listen quietly. No one shouts opinions or demands to be heard. They sit with their brother, even though they’re scattered across the world.
“I didn’t need to,” I say. “It wasn’t a marketing campaign. It was telling the truth.”
“What do we say?” Savannah asks, quieter now, less severe.
“You say nothing. Block them and move on. None of us owes anyone commentary on our lives.”
My children all nod, and Ollie wraps his arm around his younger brother’s shoulders.
“We all miss her,” he whispers. “But she’s still here.”
Ollie points to the family photo on the wall. It was near the end of her life. Bex in a wheelchair, the rest of us surrounding her. It’s sad and happy in equal measure, a memory frozen in time showing what we all lost.
Rose’s connection drops. Within minutes, she’s calling back in. I move the tablet to a better angle so all three of us can see the girls. Rose squints through the screen.
“Do you need your eyes tested?” I ask, and she glares.
“No, I’m just noticing the change.”
I tuck my hands beneath the table, knowing she’s noticed the ring. “It was time,” I say. “Time to move forward.”
***
Later that night, I’m sitting alone on my sofa, glass of wine in hand, watching nothing on the TV. My phone lights up. A message from Antonia.
Thank you.
That’s it. Two words. They sit on my notifications as if unread. I consider replying, but place the phone face down, not wanting to overstep again. She’s reached out and said what she needed to say.
Gratitude from her means more than any stranger’s praise. But a reply can wait until morning.